


two crowned kings; and one that stood alone

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, M/M, Mrs. Pryce is a Scary Teacher, Multi, also side note i low-key hate kepler, know?, not like actual enemies just 'who the fuck is this person who keeps bumping into me', so i obviously had to make one, so if you like him don't read this because very little good will happen to him, wolf 359 didn't have a high school au yet??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 05:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12857919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: doug doesn't like the lockers at the school, how they're all so bright and don't close right and are all too close together, so that you always bump into the people leaning against their lockers.jacobi doesn't like the guy who keeps bumping into him, with his alien t-shirts and his stuttering friends and calm disposition(title from oscar wilde's 'a vision')





	1. nay, let us walk from fire onto fire

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title is from oscar wilde's panthea because i couldn't figure out a good title...

Doug hates the locker’s color. They’re bright red, don’t match anything else in the school, and are  _ physically assaulting his eyes  _ on this fine Monday morning. Doug hates everything on Monday mornings. 

He hates how synthetic the schools cinnamon rolls taste, and how the school council decided orange and lime green were good colors for a poster, and how Minkowski has track meet before school and couldn’t walk to school with him.

Doug shoves his backpack into one of the cherry red lockers, grabs three books and a notebook, then slams the door. Hera chides him. 

“You’re going to dent the locker if you keep doing that,” she warns, carefully closing her lockers door.

“I’d love to make some kind of mark on this school,” Doug mutters. 

“Then do it with sharpie like the rest of us.”

Doug grumbles and readjusts his hold on the textbooks. “What class do you have first hour?”

“German. What about you?”

“English.”

“Bye, Doug.”

Doug half-heartedly waves back at her, squares his shoulders, and starts to weave through the busy hallways. He bumps into a guy leaning against a locker, who glares at him. He glares back. 

He has English with Minkowski, who is sitting in the second row, near the middle of the classroom. It seems random enough, but he suspects it’s a calculated choice. He slides into the desk next to her. “Morning, ‘Commander’.”

“Good morning, Eiffel.” She glances up from her phone. “And I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“It was two years ago, Eiffel.”

“A year and seven months,” Doug counters, stretching out his legs. “Barely a year and a half.”

“It was a game of battleship.”

“Against Alexander. It was a battle of wills. You earned the title, Commander.”

Minkowski shoves her phone in her pocket. “Nevertheless.”

Eiffel glances up at the whiteboard. “What’s the teacher like?”

“Terrifying,” Minkowski whispers. “Mrs. Pryce. Koudelka says she’s awful.”

“Dominik thinks someone’s scary?” Doug raises his eyebrows. “She must really be something. I would have thought he’d be numb, hanging around you so much.”

“Wisecrack all you want, Eiffel. She’s evil.”

Their classmates start to trickle in, the space filling faster than Doug is strictly comfortable with. They’re all accompanied by murmurs: “where’s the teacher?”, “is it actually Mrs. Pryce?”, “I heard she was fired for threatening a student”.

The guy who Doug bumped into earlier sits in the far back, twisting a pipe cleaner around his finger over and over and over. One of his ring fingers is bandaged, which Doug mentions to Minkowski. 

She shrugs. “Probably jammed it playing basketball or something.”

“Do you know him?” Doug furtively shoots a glance at the boy again.  _ He plays basketball?  _

“Never seen him in my life. But I know his type well enough.”

Minkowski looks angry and Doug knows her well enough to not push the subject, but…

“What’s his type?”

Minkowski scowls. “Not you, Eiffel.”

Eiffel scowls back. “Not what I  _ meant,  _ commander.”

Minkowski opens her mouth to retort when Mrs. Pryce walks into the room.

Eiffel’s first thought is  _ ‘Dominik was right holy shit’ _ , then,  _ ‘her eyes look familiar’.  _

He can’t place who they look like, but it bugs him the entire hour. They’re almost unnaturally aqua, a bit darker than anti-freeze and just as deadly. He just can’t quite place them, but he swears he’s seen eyes like that but on someone smiling- something Mrs. Pryce doesn’t seem to do.

And then, five seconds after the bell rings, it hits him. ( _ the boy with the bandaged finger also hits him - bumping into his shoulder while trying to get out the door.) _

Hera has those eyes. 

  
  


Jacobi is in a terrible mood when he gets to his computer sciences class. His finger hurts, Mrs. Pryce is awful, and that damn kid with the alien t-shirt bumped into him like seven different times. 

Alana, of course, picks up on his bad mood right away and proceeds to pretend he’s Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.

“Aw, did your tail fall off again? Where’d you lose it this time?”

“Fuck off, Alana,” Jacobi says, but lifts his head off the table and grins a little. “Does Kepler have this class with us?”

“No, he didn’t want to take it.” she pauses. “He denied his technophobia.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him.”

“The man barely has a phone.”

“Just because you have three-”

“Two of those three don’t do anything but call people because I made them-”

“-doesn’t mean that other people have to use their phone a lot.”

“He never replies to my texts.”

“He doesn’t reply to me either. It’s not personal.”

Alana raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Jacobi looks at her. He’s been told his stare is intimidating, which he would utilize to the full extent, except that the only people he hangs around are Kepler- who cannot be intimidated- and Alana, who thinks he looks like an idiot and starts laughing whenever he glares at her.

Alana starts laughing and signs onto the computer. Jacobi stares at her hands. Alana’s been typing since she could sit up, and at this point her hands basically move at warp speed. Kepler types with one finger and it annoys the hell out of her.

“Do we have any classes with him?”

“Social studies. Why do you not remember this stuff?”

“I’ve got more important things to remember.”

Alana looks pointedly at his bandaged finger. “Like how far away to position yourself from explosives?”

Jacobi glowers, but manages to say, “Yes. Like that.”

Lunch is fourty-seven minutes after that conversation, when they meet up with Kepler. He doesn’t have a lunch, just a bottle of coke. A bottle, specifically. Kepler hates pop cans. Jacobi has two slices of pizza- one sausage and one pepperoni. 

Alana gags at the Jacobi’s lunch and scowls at Kepler’s lack of one. 

“Unlike the two of you, I have a lunch that involves more than just a drink  _ and  _ doesn’t involve the murder of innocent animals.”

“Knock it off, Alana. We all you know don’t give a-”

There’s a girl behind Alana now, and she wasn’t there before. She’s flanked by a boy- the boy from english with the t-shirt and a messy bun. 

Jacobi can feel his face shift into hostility. 

Kepler takes a gulp of his coke and levels a stare at the girl. She looks terrified, but forces herself to look at Alana instead. 

Jacobi feels a flash of pity for her, and then it’s replaced by irritation at the t-shirt boy. 

“M-maxwell, right?” the girl has a defined stutter. “I’m H-hera.”

Alana smiles. Jacobi can’t tell if it’s real. “Alana Maxwell, yeah. Hera’s a pretty name.”

The girl smiles, then ducks her head. “I j-just wanted to say hi.” she says, shuffles her hands, and walks back to wherever she had been sitting before. T-shirt boy lingers for a moment, looking at Jacobi.

“Do you play basketball?”

Jacobi looks at him, incredulous. Kepler smiles. “Do  _ look  _ like I play basketball?”

“You look like you could if you wanted to.”

“I could do anything if I wanted to.”

Jacobi is aware he’s being antagonistic. T-shirt boy seems largely unaffected. “I bet you could.” he turns on his heel and walks away. Jacobi glares at his back and Alana laughs. 

“Do  _ you  _ play basketball? I can’t imagine you even touching one of those things.”

Jacobi rolls his eyes. “ _ He  _ probably plays basketball. Seems like the type.”

“Mm.” Alana hums. “Aren’t basketball players  _ your  _ type?”

Jacobi barks out a laugh. “Not the kind that wear alien t-shirts.”

“I wear alien t-shirts,” she points out. 

“And that’s true, isn’t it.” Kepler says, “but is it remotely relevant? No.”

The conversation ends. Jacobi turns to look at Kepler, who notices to attention. 

“Did I tell you about the time when I went to Russia?”

“I don’t think you have,” Jacobi says.

Lunch feels longer than it is, and Kepler keeps talking for all of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the first chapter! i hope y'all like it!
> 
> comments and kudos give me life!!


	2. from passionate pain to deadliest delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title's still from oscar wilde's panthea, but now it's the _second_ line.

Doug and Hera go over to Minkowski’s house after school. It’s an old brownstone and about six blocks away from school- Minkowski and Doug walk to school together in the morning. Hera takes the bus.

Doug sprawls out on Minkowski’s four-poster bed, his head hanging off the edge. “So.” He stops, considering his next words. It’s kind of difficult upside-down. “Hera, I think you have something to tell us.”

Hera startles, almost dropping her textbook. “I- what?”

Minkowski stares at Doug. “Eiffel, what are you talking about?”

“I-is it about Alana? Because she’s in my computers class and I couldn’t help but think she looks cool and I wanted to talk to her and I know you don’t like her friend, but-”

“That’s not it. Although, yeah. We should talk about that later.” Doug takes out the six pages of english homework Mrs. Pryce handed out. “Are you related to this fascist?”

Hera blusters. “What? N-no, of course not, I would have told y-you, sh-she’s-” she hangs her head. “She’s my mom.”

Minkowski breaks the tip of her pencil against her notebook paper. 

“Plot twist,” Doug mutters.

“Your  _ mom  _ just gave me two hours of homework,” Minkowski says slowly, “On the first. Day. Of. School.”

“I don’t l-like her either,” Hera cries. “She’s awful. Why do you think I spend so much time at your house?”

“I thought it was because you enjoyed our company,” Doug turns over and props himself up on his elbows. “But I get it.”

Minkowski gets up to sharpen her pencil. “Why didn’t you ever complain?”

“Yeah,” Doug agrees, “If she were my mom, I wouldn’t do anything but.”

“I d-don’t know.” Hera trails off. “It’s just not something I do.”

There’s a silence. Not quite stifling, and not quite awkward, but almost. 

“What about her?” Doug says abruptly. 

“Who?”

“Alana.” Doug frowns. “Computer girl. I don’t like her.”

“You don’t like her  _ friend _ ,” Minkowski corrects. 

“I don’t like her,” he insists. “Or her friends.”

“Y-you’re just worried about someone e-else wearing stupid alien t-shirts,” Hera says.

“They are not stupid!” Doug composes himself. “They’re intelligent statements on political whamajam.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

The next day, before Doug goes to english, Hera tells him how to avoid being noticed by Mrs. Pryce. Doug takes her advice and survives the hour. Medium posture. Raise your hand for one question each day. Don’t make too much noise. No eye contact. 

Non-basketball-kid follows none of these suggestions- not that he got them, but Doug suspects that even if he did, he would have taken them with a grain of salt. Mrs. Pryce tells them about plot and tone, her own tone sounding decidedly disinterested. Jacobi raises his hand every chance he gets. Maybe half his answers are genuine.

Doug thinks he knows something about him. He also knows his name now. Mrs. Pryce does too, having to call on him so many times. It’s Daniel, but he doesn’t answer to anything but Jacobi. His posture is horrible and he still has that pipe cleaner, persistently toying with it all hour. 

Doug catches his eye twice over the forty-five minute period. Jacobi glares at him. 

Doug glares back.

Minkowski follows him out the door, hiding a grin as he bumps into Jacobi again. “Hey, Eiffel.”

Doug doesn't answer. He’s thinking about Jacobi, trying to figure him out, but he can’t quite-

“Eiffel?”

“Oh, sorry, Commander. What we you saying?”

“Just seeing if you were still there.”

“Yeah, just… thinking.”

They turn into the astronomy room- 4013- and sit in the front row, at the seats they claimed yesterday. There’s another girl on Minkowski’s other side, who slides into the seat seconds after the bell. “Isabelle Lovelace,” she introduces herself. “But my friends call me Captain.”

Eiffel snorts. “Interesting name.”

“I’m an interesting person.”

Minkowski narrows her eyes. “I’m sure you are.”

  
  


There’s a new girl in Jacobi’s social studies class- not really new, she came to the school one day after the first. She has nice enough hair and is possibly one of the scariest people Jacobi’s met, excepting Kepler. 

And she sits right next to him. 

“Morning, Jacobi.” She greets him. He has no idea how she knows his name and he doesn’t really care.

“Good morning, Isabelle,” Kepler drawls back. He’s sitting right in front of Jacobi. 

Isabelle looks at him the way one might look at a particularly distinguished gnat. “Is your name Jacobi?”

“No, but-”

“Then I don’t think I was talking to you.”

Alana, on Jacobi’s other side, shoots a grin at Jacobi. Jacobi ignores her. “Good morning, Isabelle.” He says slowly, looking straight ahead. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ah, you too.”

The teacher, Mr. Cutter, gets up from his seat in the back of the room. “Good morning, class. Before we get started today, we’re going to have a little… chat.” His voice is cheerful, but vaguely threatening. 

Half the students in the room shoot to attention. Maxwell and Isabelle both slouch a little more.

“Now, I know many of you may have older siblings that have had me as a teacher in the past, and I trust that siblings have stressed to you how much I encourage them to keep being better.” he taps the blackboard with a ruler. “I chose to become a teacher because I wanted to teach children that ‘best’ is not good enough. You need to be better.”

Kepler straightens. Jacobi watches his back shift from his normal posture into something more rigid. 

Alana catches him watching and rolls her eyes. 

“I am going to teach you how to be the future historians. The future astronauts, the future politicians of our world. And for that, you don’t need best, you need better.”

Jacobi thinks it’s bullshit. How many times has he been told that he needs to better? Self betterment is a philosophy for some. People like Kepler with big dreams and big wallets and dedication to whatever they put their mind too. 

Jacobi’s goal is just to survive. Hopefully to stick with Kepler and Alana as long as possible. 

His cynicism on the subject must show on his face, because there’s a ghost of a smile twitching at Isabelle’s lips. “Not your thing, huh?”

“Not really, no,” he mutters. 

Cutter taps the board again. “Ms. Lovelace. Mr. Jacobi,” he says pleasantly, “Care to share?”

“We were just comparing opinions on your speech, Mister Cutter,” Isabelle states.

“And what conclusion did you come to, Ms. Lovelace?”

“Nothing yet.” Lovelace settles back into her chair again. 

Jacobi wraps his pipe cleaner around his finger again. Mrs. Pryce had almost confiscated it, but Kepler had told Jacobi what to say if she tried to take it away. Kepler's speech had, it seemed, contained enough legalese that she backed off. 

Cutter stares at Isabelle. She looks past him, at the blackboard. 

“Well. Tell me when you make a decision,” he says finally, and goes back to teaching class. 

Isabelle’s face is stony. Maxwell is grinning, and Kepler is still sitting rigid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeey how do you all feel about minlace? (if it's included hinges on your opinions, soo comment please!!)
> 
> xoxo


	3. i am too young to live without desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're on the third line of the poem! woah! (warning; i am making no promises as to whether we will finish the first few stanzas, or if we'll drop off in the middle of a verse)

Doug likes his astronomy class. The room is small- in between an actual classroom and a science supply closet. Minkowski and Isabelle have the class with him, and Alexander Hilbert sits behind him and begrudgingly give him the homework. 

“Morning, Ander!” Doug waves behind him, swiveling in his chair. “How’s the science coming?”

Alexander shakes his head. “It is not simply science, Eiffel. I am studying the genetic modification of certain veins of plant life, attempting to make them semi-competent.”

“Woah, Woah, back up there, doc.” Doug pauses. “You’re making a Frankenstein sunflower?”

“Sunflowers are not one of the plants I am studying, they include-”

“Then what are you studying?”

Alexander grinds his teeth. “I was getting to that, Eiffel, if you would let me finish. The plants I am examining include climbing ivy, carnations, and wild strawberries. The ivy, by far, has been coming along the best-”

The teacher raps the board with her knuckle. “Today we’re talking about yellow dwarfs, which you should all know about if you did the homework.” She looks directly at Doug, and he shrinks back. 

“Hilbert,” he whispers once she looks away, “Can I borrow your homework?”

Hilbert slips the paper onto his desk and he grins. “Thanks.”

“It is no problem.”

“Doug,” The teacher raises her eyebrow. “Do you have the homework?”

“Wh- yeah! Yeah, I’ve got it right… here.” Doug holds up the sheet Hilbers just handed him.

The teacher walks over to inspect the paper. “This is information on the genetic structure of climbing ivy.”

Doug looks down at the paper and says slowly, “Indeed it is. I must have grabbed the wrong paper.” He swipes Alexander’s bag, ignoring the Russian accented protests from behind him. 

“Astronomy homework,” he mutters, and grabs a notebook sheet near the top labeled ‘Yellow Dwarf Homework’. “Here it is, Ms.” 

He doesn’t notice the tiny sprig of ivy clinging to his sweatshirt sleeve.

 

Jacobi does, during lunch. Eiffel’s not sure why he’s over by their table again, other than Hera and her insistence on talking to Alana. 

Hera blushes, and stutters, and Maxwell looks mildly concerned until Eiffel finally rests his hand on their lunch table and says, “Look, I don’t like you.”

Jacobi mutters, “The feeling’s mutual,” and Eiffel glares at him. 

“I don’t like you,” he says louder, “my friend here likes you, so if the two of you want to  _ do something,  _ or whatever normal people do, I’m formally inviting you on a date with Hera here.”

Maxwell smiles politely. “I’d love to, are you busy Sunday?”

Hera chokes out a response, but Eiffel isn’t listening, he’s watching Jacobi, who’s watching Kepler, who has his eyes closed, seemingly enjoying the soda he’s drinking. 

Hera goes quiet and Jacobi blinks, looking over at Eiffel and Hera. 

“Eiffel,” he greets.

“Daniel!” Eiffel grins. 

Jacobi grinds his teeth at the name, but glances at Maxwell, who’s talking quietly with Hera and composes himself. “You have… something moving on your sleeve,” he says coldly. 

Eiffel resists the urge to swat wildly at the sleeve and raises his eyebrows. “Do I.”

“You do. Here, let me get it.” Jacobi stands up and grabs at Eiffel’s sweatshirt. “It looks like a plant. Ivy, I think.” he squeaks, almost dropping it. “It’s  _ moving _ !”

Eiffel contains his own terror and pretends he knew about it all along. Which, he supposes, he did. Alexander told him. “Of course it’s moving. It’s my…” he searches wildly for a word. “...pet.”

Jacobi does not believe him. “Your pet.”

Eiffel grins in a way he thinks is winningly. He doesn’t win, and Jacobi sits back. 

“Yeah, it’s my pet. It’s, uh, genetically modified, and all the rage recently.” he holds out his hand. “Can I have, uh, Blessed Eternal?”

Jacobi keeps the plant. “You named your plant Blessed Eternal?”

“Yeah,” Eiffel bluffs, “I call her Ette for short.”

Jacobi pets one of the plants leafs. “Cute.”

“Can I have it back?”

Jacobi disentangles the seedling from his fingers, subtly flipping Eiffel off. He drops Ette on Eiffel’s palm and Eiffel slips the plant into his front pocket. 

 

Mr. Cutter assigns a group project the next day in social studies- an exhibit on the civil war, and Jacobi finds himself in a group with Isabelle, Alana, and Kepler. 

Kepler takes control of the group immediately. Alana and Jacobi are used to this, but Isabelle isn’t. 

“We’re all doing this project,  _ Warren.”  _

Mr. Cutter clears his throat from the front of the room. “Reminder, this project is due in three weeks and will account for 77% of your final grade.”

Kepler ignores her. “That’s not an insult,” he drawls, in response to Isabelle, “that’s just… my name. No one competent takes offence at someone calling them their name.”

Kepler doesn’t look at Jacobi, but Jacobi notices the silght and starts scanning his mind for what he may have done. He comes up with nothing. 

“It’s a stupid enough name that anyone else would take offence,” Isabelle says bitingly. 

Nothing Isabelle says is particularly offending, but she says everything strongly. She knows she thinks you’re dirt, so you feel like it. 

“We’re doing it on Robert E. Lee,” Kepler says. He sounds in control, like always. 

“I think it would be a  _ better  _ idea if we did the importance of women in the civil war, because they’re so often overlooked,” Isabelle counters, “Mr. Cutter would appreciate it, I think, because he probably doesn’t see as much essays on the topic.”

Kepler looks at Maxwell for support, and she scoots backwards. “I have no opinion,” she says, in the voice she gets after she spends too much time working on AI. Cold, unfeeling, and fake. It sounds like Siri. 

Isabelle and Kepler look at Jacobi expectantly. 

“So?” Kepler doesn’t look nervous at all. He knows Jacobi is going to choose him.

And Jacobi will. He doesn’t care about Lee, and learning about the impact of something other than men in the war would be interesting, and he  _ knows  _ that that’s what Alana wants to choose, she’s just smart and excused herself from the situation first. But he also knows that Kepler values loyalty, and that choosing Lovelace over Kepler on this would be a bad choice, so he says,

“I think that we should go with Kepler’s idea.”

No one else at the table has any visible reaction to his choice. 

 

And now it’s two weeks and five days later, and everyone is tightly wound. Their project is almost done, but not quite, and Kepler is panicking. 

“Isabelle!” he snaps. “What are you  _ doing?  _ We need you to print out those last notes.”

Isabelle mock salutes him. “Sure, Colonel.”

Kepler glares at her back as she walks off to the computer lab. “Impertinence,” he says to Jacobi. “At least I know that you won’t leave me.”

Jacobi takes solace in the fact that Kepler seems to care, to take relief in the fact that Jacobi won’t leave him, that he’s not quite taken for granted. But still, there’s something in his tone that bothers Jacobi.

Alana walks up with four photos she found somewhere and hands them to Kepler. “I got the pictures, Kepler-”

Kepler glances down at the pictures. “These are the wrong pictures,” he says calmly, “They’re of women from the civil war.”

“Oh, sorry, do you want me to print out some different ones?”

“No.”

“Sorry, what?”

“No, you can keep these, and make your own project, since you so clearly want to do a different subject.”

Alana blinks, then nods. 

Jacobi doesn’t understand. “Sir?”

“Yes, Jacobi?”

“You’re not kicking her out of the group?”

Kepler cocks his head. “I am, in fact. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“She can’t make a new project in two days, it’s impossible-”

“I’m sure she can figure something out. Your friend is veerry resourceful.”

Lovelace comes up behind Kepler. “Alana! Can you come help-”

“I’m afraid Maxwell isn’t part of the group anymore, Isabelle.” Kepler takes her shoulder and leads her away. 

Jacobi and Alana stare at each other for a few seconds, and then Jacobi turns to follow Kepler. 

_Alana will figure it out. Kepler wouldn’t let her fail the class,_ Jacobi reassures himself. _Kepler has it under control. He always does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhey like my replacement for maxwells death because i don't want her to, y'know, actually die? too sad. 
> 
> i am still taking opinions on minlace! 
> 
> thanks for reading! xoxoxo


	4. too young art thou to waste this summer night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fourth line!!! woah!!!

Doug didn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really didn’t, and he had an excuse for why he found himself hiding in a corner, listening to Jacobi and Kepler. 

It started during English, with Ette the plant and their dedication to Jacobi. Doug had been keeping Blessed Eternal in whatever pockets he had, but today he… didn’t have any pockets, because he was wearing a pair of Minkowski’s leggings and an old Beatles t-shirt, so Ette was clinging to his ring finger. He was telling Minkowski about how his ring was  _ just a fashion statement, Commander, it’s plastic, nothing to worry about-  _ when Ette untangled itself from his finger and started spider-crawling across the floor to Jacobi. 

Minkowski laughed under her breath. “Plastic. Really.”

Doug looked helplessly after Ette, silently praying no one stepped on them. 

He hadn’t been keeping them in his pocket for no reason, either. Ette had developed an attachment to Jacobi. Alexander, when asked after school one day, theorized that ‘perhaps it was because Jacobi was the first human being to willingly engage in physical contact with the plant’. It didn’t matter to Doug is that was true or not, it was just incredibly irritating to have to talk to Jacobi daily in order to have them back. 

And so this was not the first time this had happened- Ette scrambling across the floor toward Jacobi’s desk or lunch table, or locker and Doug watching helplessly from afar. 

After class this time, though, Jacobi didn’t wait by the door to give them back to Doug, he just walked out the door, seemingly not noticing Ette curled up in the hood of his sweatshirt. 

Doug followed Jacobi out the door and down the hallway. He was probably going to be late to Astronomy, but Doug had managed to win over the teacher and would be fine. 

Jacobi looked tenser than normal, hunched over, and his hair was messy. More so than most of the time, Doug corrected himself. 

Jacobi stopped in front of a locker that was most definitely not his, and Doug slipped into one of the alcoves by a classroom door. 

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but here he is now. Eavesdropping. Minkowski is going to kill him for being late. 

The bell rings, and Doug thinks that this going to be it. Jacobi sprint off to his next class and Doug will go after him and take Ette back. But Jacobi stays where he is. 

Doug hears Kepler’s voice and grimaces. 

“Jacobi, I didn’t think I’d see you here. Thought you had Computer Science with Alana.”

“She’s not here today. The secretary says she’s sick.”

“I don’t see what the problem is, then.”

There’s a pause. Doug holds his breath. 

“The  _ problem  _ is that you kicked her out.”

Kepler laughs, low in his throat. “ _ That’s  _ what you’re worried about?”

“That’s like 77% of her grade! You can’t just do that!”

“But I did. You’re overreacting.”

“You’re underreacting!”

“I am doing no such thing. Alana is capable. She’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t even have a plan?” Jacobi sounds tenser that Doug’s ever heard anyone unless you count TV characters ten seconds before they blow up a ship. “You don’t have a way to fix this?”

“I didn’t make a plan in advance, no.”

“I can stand by while you do things like this because I believe you have a plan. But if I can’t rely on that fact, I- ” There’s a pause, and Jacobi takes a breath. “You really didn’t have a plan,” he says, quieter. 

“My plan was to let Alana take care of it.”

“She can’t make up a zero on our biggest assignment.”

“Then she’ll get a bad grade.” Doug can almost see Kepler shrug. “It’ll be fine.”

Jacobi raises his voice. “Do you know her parents? How do you think  _ they’ll  _ react when she gets a D+? Hint: they’re not going to be too happy. And she’ll only get a D+ if she’s lucky.”

“It was her choice,” Kepler says stonily. 

“No, it was yours, and I’m done agreeing with all of your choices.”

There’s a pause. Jacobi and Doug strain their ears for Kepler’s response. 

“Okay,” he says finally, drawing out the words carelessly. “You think I need you? This isn’t a blow to the stomach, Daniel. This is more like a paper cut.”

Doug hears Jacobi walk towards him and hides against the wall. Jacobi walks by, his face visibly red, twisting a new pipe cleaner around his thumb. Doug breathes a sigh of relief once he’s out of range. He ducks out from his hiding spot just in time to see Kepler bend down to look at Ette. Doug’s worried for a second, and then Kepler squeaks, clutching his nose. Ette clings to it, and Doug can tell that if they had a face, they’d be grinning. 

 

Jacobi doesn’t know where to sit at lunch. He’s never had this problem. He’d just always sit by Kepler, and Kepler never had a problem finding somewhere to sit. He’d put down his drink wherever he wanted to, and if he made the right face, everyone else would leave. Jacobi doesn’t have quite the right face for that, and his only other friend is sick. 

It feels cliché. He runs through a list of the people he’s on vaguely friendly terms with and comes up with the random boy in his Life Science class, Isabelle Lovelace, and Maxwell’s person-friend Hera. He spots Isabelle first, because she’s tall, and wears her hair in a high ponytail. 

He takes his pizza over to her table, planning on pretending that he’s supposed to be there and b-sing his way through lunch

His plan is aborted as soon as he can see the people she’s sitting with, and he sits at the end of their table and takes out his pipe cleaner, trying to see if he can make a cat out of it. Conversation at the table halts. 

Jacobi glances up at Eiffel, Renee, Hera, and Isabelle. Hilbert, across from Jacobi, continues eating his vegan-chia-soy wrap. 

“I have your plant,” Jacobi says defensively. 

Everyone’s used to this. 

Renee nods. “When’d she get out today?”

“Right after English,” Jacobi says, doing his best not to wince when he thinks about what else happened after English. He tosses Ette at Eiffel. Eiffel doesn’t catch them, and they curl up in his hair. 

“Doug,” Isabelle says, “Someone threw a plant at you, and you didn’t blink.”

Jacobi stares at Eiffel. Eiffel stares back. Renee looks concerned. “You gave us Eiffel’s weird ring plant, why are you still here?”

Jacobi scowls. “I’m sitting here, now.”

“Don’t you have…” Isabelle trails off. “ _ Friends,  _ or something?”

“Alana’s sick?”

Doug blinks. “What about the evil douche?” it doesn’t quite sound like a question. 

Jacobi looks at him. “What do you know about Kepler?”

Isabelle grimaces. “I know that you’re better off with him as far away as possible.”

Doug shrugs. “Not much, did he do something to Alana?”

Isabelle says, “yes,” at the same time Jacobi says, “How do you know?”

Doug stutters. “Just, you know, a guess, I definitely wasn’t eavesdropping, I just looked at your face, and Alana’s like the only person you care about, right? So it would make sense?”

Jacobi looks closer at Doug. He’s suspicious but knows he’s in no place to interrogate. “I’m not sitting with Kepler today,” Jacobi says slowly, enunciating like he’s talking to a four-year-old. “I’m sitting here.”

Renee furrows her brow but goes back to her lunch. The rest of the table follows suit. Hera leans over to Jacobi. “Is Alana o-okay?”

Jacobi sighs heavily. “I think so. I think it’s just a cold.”

Hera smiles reassuringly. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Jacobi picks up his pipe cleaner again. “Yeah. I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway i was grinning the entire time while writing this because anything bad that happens to Kepler makes me happy. enjoy! xoxox


	5. asking questions which of old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fifth liNE!! DUDES!!

Jacobi doesn’t look good, Doug notes. His hair looks greasy and his eyelids droop. Doug can’t decide if he feels triumphant or worried. He’s messing with something on his desk that Doug can’t quite see. Maybe if he leaned a bit over-

“Mr. Eiffel, is what Jacobi is doing really more interesting than today’s lesson?” Ms. Pryce asks. Doug glances at Minkowski, who shrugs.  _ You’re on your own,  _ she mouths. 

“Of course not, Mr. Pryce. Nothing is more interesting than, uh,” Eiffel looks at the whiteboard, “How to identify an author’s tone of voice?”

“That was from yesterday, Douglas. I haven’t wiped down the board yet. Care for another guess?”

Doug has no idea and no interest in having an idea. So he bides his time. “Can I, uh, have a hint?”

“No, you cannot have a  _ hint _ -” Ms. Pryce is cut off by a small explosion from the back of the room- a flash of white light and a small ‘boom!’ that doesn’t do much but get ash on Jacobi’s shirt and distract the class. 

Ms. Pryce spins on her Pereyra-brand designer heels. “Jacobi!” she snaps. 

Jacobi smiles slowly, guiltlessly. “Yes, Ms. Pryce?”

“What do you think you’re doing back there?”

“Experimenting, Ms. Pryce.”

“English class is not a place for experiments, Jacobi,” she says frostily. 

“There’s nowhere that isn’t a place for experiments, Ms. Pryce. The pursuit of progress is important in every field.”

“Then let me rephrase myself: if you mess around with explosives in my classroom again, you will find yourself in the principal’s office before you can say ‘phosphorus’.”

“I don’t know, Ms. Pryce, I have a lot of experience saying elements quickly.”

“Would you like to find out, Jacobi?”

Doug- and most of the class- is watching the back-and-forth. Doug’s holding his breath.  _ Jacobi what the fuck why are you back-talking  _ her,  _ out of everyone. Come insult me, but don’t push her off the edge-  _

Jacobi starts unwrapping his pipe cleaner from his ring finger and, for the first time in a minute, looks away from Ms. Pryce. “Sounds great,  _ Miranda. _ ”

“I’m glad you think so, Jacobi.” She looks around the room and her glance lands on Doug. “Eiffel can escort you. Maybe you can catch him up on what we’ve been learning today.”

“I can’t say I was listening, either.”

“Oh, I think you could.”

Doug stands as quietly as he can and walks toward the door. “Bye, Commander,” he whispers, passing Minkowski. She nods at him. 

Jacobi knocks over his chair when he stands up. He looks down at it and shrugs. Doug winces.

The hallway is empty during classes, except for a group of four sitting in the hallway and two teachers talking in hushed tones. 

Doug walks down the hallway, doing that awkward half-leading thing that you do when you’re pretty sure the other person knows where your destination is better than you do, but you still have to be the leader, and you do this strange shuffle-thing where you’re constantly looking back at your leadee, and you’re wondering if you should take their hand to lead them to the office, because you’ve never escorted anyone that wasn’t younger than seven anywhere.

Doug concludes that he probably shouldn’t hold Jacobi’s hand, especially after he’s proven himself familiar with explosives.

Doug looks back at Jacobi. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

Ette peeks out from the edge of Doug’s pocket and waves a leaf at Jacobi, who smiles slightly. 

Doug waves a hand. “That whole thing with Pryce.”

“That was me,” Jacobi says, “That was who I am.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence.

Doug drops Jacobi off at the office. He walks in with all of the solemnity of someone walking to the gallows. 

He meanders back to the room. He’s in no hurry to get back and have Pryce drill him on the ‘Subject of the Day’. The orange and green school council posters are still up, advertising the school gardening club. Hera did that for a week, and she said it was mostly kids who had gone to the principal’s office one time too many and had been told to do an extracurricular. 

There are shouts coming from an open door and Doug positions himself so he can see the SmartBoard. There’s a timer ticking down, and a deep computer voice says, “What is the part of a cell that creates protein?”. More screaming. Doug hears someone say ‘Protein-inator 3000’. He keeps walking. He slows down once he gets a few yards away from the classroom. Ms. Pryce has continued her lecture, and he stops outside the room until he hears what it’s about.

  
  


Jacobi was not planning on going to the park. He was going to pass through the park on the way to a makerspace, where he was going to blow up all the shit he wanted to because that’s what he does when Alana’s not around. He blows up stuff. He shoots rockets and he makes plans for how he could blow up the school, hypothetically- how to get everyone out, how to plant the bombs, how to escape the law afterward. 

He hasn’t gone to the park in ages, not since he was seven and his babysitter took him to the big field just north of it to shoot off baking powder rockets. It’s been even longer since he’s been on the playground- probably not since the babysitter before that. The one with the frizzy hair. 

It’s an awful playground. There’s only one swing, for one thing. Every playground designer should go and spend a day examining how kids react to playground equipment. No one wants to swing alone unless they don’t have friends to swing with. 

The tube slide is too short and not steep enough to slide down. It’s useless for anything other than huddling in and hiding from the outside world. 

The highest point is too high to be safe, too low to be interesting, and underneath the playground is dark and cool. The fence is too close to the boundaries of the playground and some kids have ripped a hole in it and made a hollow of branches.

It’s exactly where Jacobi wants to be right now. 

He gets on the swing and starts to kick his legs. He loved swinging when he was little- he was one of those kids who swung by themselves in kindergarten. He used to worry that he would kick too high and fly over the bar. 

He didn’t meet Alana until first grade, and Kepler until fourth, so he knew everything you could do alone during recess. Swinging was his favorite. He liked being higher up than the rest of his class. He wanted to go to space, too, in kindergarten, because what was higher than space? Once he met Alana, he stopped swinging, because she didn’t like it, and he didn’t want to do it alone, because now he knew what it was like to not be alone during recess, and he didn’t want to give it up. He swung when she was home sick, though. 

And then he was friends with Kepler, and he hated swings, so even when they were both gone, he didn’t swing, because Kepler wouldn’t want him to, and Kepler was his friend.  _ And maybe Kepler wouldn’t be his friend if he swung.  _

Jacobi gets off the swing, dragging his feet on the sand to stop and sliding off. He goes over to the hollow of trees in the fence and curls up. 

There’s climbing ivy on the inside of the fence. Jacobi idly wonders if Blessed Eternal is going to grow like that, or if it’ll stay that small forever, sitting in Doug’s front pocket. Jacobi wonders if Alexander would let Jacobi buy a plant. He’s like to have sentient climbing ivy on the outside of his house someday. 

He’s getting dirt on his nice pants. He doesn’t really care. Kepler picked them out a year ago, after getting tired of Jacobi’s ripped jeans. Jacobi never liked wearing nice pants much. He liked his denim because they were soft and he’s been wearing them for four years because he hasn’t grown much since seventh grade. Alana never cared what he wore, or whose clothes he was wearing. Neither of them did. Once in seventh grade, he came to school wearing one of her dresses that she had thrown at him. It was an awful dress- hot pink and knee length and didn’t really fit him properly. Kepler had ignored it

He should probably leave, though. He should have been at the makerspace fifteen minutes ago and he still has half a mile to go. 

He doesn’t want to, but he cracks open an eye and notices another person on the playground. 

He thinks it’s a neighborhood kid at first, before realizing that the person leaning against the tube slide is too tall for that, and their hair looks familiar, and it’s Douglas Fucking Eiffel, because Jacobi can’t just have a normal breakdown in the corner of an old playground without running into someone from school, can he. 

He shifts back, hoping he can’t be seen by Doug, but he made a sound when he saw him- a kind of squawk of surprise that Alana giggles at, and Doug turn to look for the source of the sound. Their eyes meet and Jacobi sighs resignedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhey y'all!!! good day! i love vaguely romanticised descriptions of playgrounds, so yeah!
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!!


	6. man sought of seer and oracle

Doug hadn’t expected to meet Jacobi at the park. He hadn’t expected to meet anyone, except for maybe a gaggle of six-year-olds who’d been kicked out and told be go ‘be active or something’. He’d never run into someone his own age. 

He wouldn’t have noticed him either, except Jacobi made a noise- a cross between a dying chicken and someone at the end of an uncontrollable laugh. Doug turned to look at him, hiding behind the fence. He looked worse than he had earlier in the day, and he’s hiccuping, with one hand on his chest and the other on the ground, steadying him.

Doug widened his eyes. “Dude, are you-”

“I’m  _ fine. _ Why are you here?”

“I come here sometimes? It’s public property?” Doug wandered over and sat on the other side of the fence. 

“You should go,” Jacobi says, poking the ground with a stick. 

“Did you not just hear what I said about public property?”

Jacobi smirked. “This town ain’t big enough for both of us, asshole.”

“Why are you here? I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Maybe I wanted to enjoy the scenery?”

“Hiding in a hole isn’t the best way to do that. I can show you some of the actual scenery. There’s a trail down a bit-”

“No thanks, I’ve got an appointment with some explosives.” Jacobi moves to stand up, but doesn’t. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Is everything good with Kepler-”

Jacobi levels Doug with a glare. “Do you  _ think  _ everything is good with Kepler.”

Doug leans back. “...No?”

“Yeah, no. Nothing’s ever all good with Kepler. It’s just… worse than normal right now.” Jacobi sighs.

“Is that why you’re sitting with us? Are you avoiding him?”

“Maybe I am EIffel. Maybe I…” He stops, staring at the ivy. “Is Ette going to grow to be that tall?”

“What tall?”

“That tall,” Jacobi smiles a tiny bit and Doug feels triumphant. “As tall as the ivy on the fence.”

Doug looks down at his sweatshirt pocket. “I hope not. I think my dad would notice if I had a huge ivy plant in my room.”

“Can I see it?” Jacobi holds out a hand. He obviously doesn’t expect Doug to say no. 

“Sure, dude.” Doug drops Ette onto Jacobi’s palm. They crawl up his arm and nestle in the hood of his jacket.

Doug scowls. “Why do they like you so much?”

“Plant whisperer,” Jacobi says, and smiles. 

Doug makes an effort not to do a tiny victory dance. “Huh. Hey, dude, I know we’re kinda enemies and I applaud your subject avoiding skills, but I too have experienced avoiding subjects.”

Jacobi stares at the ground. His smile dissipates.

“What happened with you and Kepler?” Doug knows that this is a terrible idea. He doesn’t know Jacobi well enough to warrant asking, but he doesn’t think anyone else is going to ask. 

Jacobi pokes the dirt again. “We’re not… acquaintances anymore.”

“Aw, come on, you guys were more than acquaintances.”

“Are you implying something, Mister Eiffel?”

Doug looks up at Jacobi’s face. He can’t tell if it’s a joke, and Jacobi’s face is stony. “Nah, I meant more like, friendship. You know. It’s not romantic, but it’s not having an enemy.”

“I have  _ friends,  _ Eiffel.”

“And did I say that you didn’t? No!” Doug shifts so that he’s sitting on his knees. “I’m just saying that you seem to be down a friend. And that maybe you could benefit from being friends with a certain sentient-plant-owner?” This is an awful idea.

Jacobi scowls.  _ Awful idea.  _ “I guess. Will you show me that trail you were talking about?”

_ You’re going to regret this, Doug.  _ “Sure.” Doug reaches out a hand and Jacobi takes it. 

 

Jacobi doesn’t know what he’s thinking, walking through the forest with Eiffel, looking like something out of a damn romance novel. Eiffel’s a few steps ahead of him, swiping aside branches and then wincing and apologizing when those same branches come back to thwak Jacobi in the face. 

Jacobi waves a hand, says “It’s okay, dude _. _ ”

Eiffel looks concerned for a second, but nods, grins, “c’mon” _ ,  _ and turns back to the path. His frizzy hair makes a halo around his head, and Jacobi can’t bring himself to focus on anything but what’s around him. What he can see. He’s not going to bother with double meanings and collateral damage or scratch the surface of the meaning of anything he says right now, not when he’s not around Kepler. Kepler, with his hidden meanings and power play. 

Kepler’s not there now, though. It’s strange, not having him there. Jacobi blocked his number- more a symbolic gesture than a practical one. Kepler never texted anyone. It feels easier, though, knowing that he  _ couldn’t  _ text Jacobi at any time. 

Jacobi’s stopped walking, and he’s staring at a stump. Eiffel’s a few yards ahead, whistling something. Jacobi sits down in front of the dead tree. 

“Hey, Danny-boy- Jacobi?”

“Hey, Eiffel. Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool, dude.” Eiffel wanders back. “Nice stump there.”

Jacobi smiles weakly. “Yeah. I named it Marie Antoinette.”

Eiffel beams and pats the stump. “Yeah.”

There’s an awkward silence, and Eiffel grabs Jacobi’s hand. “C’mon. We’re not that far from Minkowski’s house.”

Jacobi pulls his hand back. “Why would I want to go to  _ Renee’s  _ house?”

“Because,” Eiffel says solemnly, taking Jacobi’s hand back softly, “Minkowski is a good person.”

“Oh, gee. A good person. I sure don’t know any of those-”

“Do you?”

Jacobi shoves his hands in his pockets. “I would say I do.”

Eiffel holds out a hand. “You can always get to know more.”

Jacobi scowls and takes it, pulling himself up. “Does this mean I’m one of the good guys now?”

“Dude, I think you always were.”

They’re framed by the trees as they walk down the path, Eiffel chattering on about something Jacobi’s never heard of, and Jacobi doing his best not to think about… anything, really.

Especially not he and Eiffel’s hands, interlocked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeee hey loves!! i hope you enjoyed this chapter,, sorry i took ages. i wrote some and got stuck, and then forgot about it, and then came back and deleted like the whole chapter and rewrote it. 
> 
> comments and kudos make me start grinning uncontrollably!!


	7. and no reply was told

Doug bounds up the stairs to Minkowski’s room, throwing open the door and shoving Jacobi inside. “Minkowski-”

“Eiffel, now is… not the best time.” Minkowski says through clenched teeth. “I was talking to someone.”

Lovelace is sitting cross-legged on Minkowski’s desk chair and she smiles at Jacobi, who walks towards her and sits at her feet, looking apprehensively at Minkowski. “Oh, no, it’s nice to see you, Doug.”

“You too, Isabelle.” Doug plops down on the bed next to Minkowski, putting his head on her lap. “What were you two talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Minkowski says hurriedly. 

Lovelace winks at Doug and he grins back at her. 

“What’s Jacobi doing here?” Minkowski asks.

“He wanted to come-”

“I did not!” Jacobi interjects. “He kidnapped me. I was going to blow shit up.” He makes an explosions gesture. Lovelace pats his head. 

“You always had the best ideas, Dan.”

Daniel scowls. “Maxwell usually comes with me, but she’s still not feeling well, and her mom took her phone and computer.”

Lovelace whistles. “Maxwell without her computer…”

“It’s like Hilbert without his science,” Jacobi finishes.

“What’d she  _ do _ ?” Eiffel props up his head. 

Jacobi shifts and looks up at Lovelace. “Failed an assignment.”

Lovelace groans. “Oh god, can we kill him now?”

“I’m on board,” Jacobi says. “I’ve got some explosives-”

“-We don’t have to kill him, just scare him a little-”

“-maybe shout at him? That could work-”

“-tell Cutter what he did. He’s probably never had a teacher mad at him-”

“-That’s not quite true. There was once in sixth grade-”

“ _ Only once?”  _

Jacobi chuckles. “Yeah. Maxwell shoved him and managed to convince the teacher it was his fault.”

“Impressive.”

“Maxwell can do anything.” He smiles. “She’s something.”

Lovelace winds a strand of Jacobi’s hair around her finger absently. “So, actually, what’s the plan?”

“Spray paint a school wall and blame it on him,” Jacobi says.

“We could get Hera to hack the school’s grades system and-”

“Guys,” Doug says, sitting up. “Don’t do that stuff.”

Jacobi and Isabelle blink at him.

“Haven’t you two ever heard the phrase ‘don’t stoop to their level’?”

Jacobi frowns. “Maxwell is basically in  _ solitary confinement  _ and it’s  _ his fault. _ ”

“She’s got her family,” Doug says.

“Have you met Maxwell’s family?” Doug hasn’t. “They’re  _ those  _ Christians.”

Doug winces, and Jacobi nods. 

Still. 

“Snub him,” Minkowski supplies. “Completely ignore him.”

Jacobi sighs and leans back against Lovelace’s legs. “He’s already going to be doing that to me.”

She shrugs. “Then at least you don’t have to look at his  _ smug face  _ again.”

“Hera’ll be glad you and Maxwell aren’t sitting with Kepler anymore,” Lovelace says, smiling. 

Jacobi turns to look at Lovelace. “Why isn’t Hera here, anyway? It’s just you two, all... alone…” his eyes widen. “Oh god. Sorry.”

Lovelace raises her eyebrows. Jacobi stands up. “We’ll… leave you two…” he grabs Doug’s arm.

Doug salutes Minkowski as he’s pulled through the door. “You two are a cute couple!”

 

Jacobi’s throwing pebbles at Maxwell’s window at two in the morning. 

He and Eiffel parted ways a few hours ago after Eiffel escorted him home on the city bus and they had traded phone numbers. Jacobi had sat on his bed for a while, texting Eiffel and smiling to himself about how cliche this was, and what Maxwell was going to say. 

He feels straight out of a bad teen movie, with his pajama shirt and long swoopy coat. The handful of pebbles in his hand is growing sparse, so if Maxwell doesn't come out soon-

Her window cracks open and she sticks her head out. “Jacobi, have you come to rescue me?”

Jacobi grins. “Sure. Just let down your hair-”

Maxwell tugs on the end of her ponytail. “Not happening, Prince Charming.”

She clambers out the window and climbs down the pine tree. “God, I thought you’d never get here.”

“I was otherwise preoccupied.”

Maxwell sighs and takes his arm. “Did Kepler need something again?”

Jacobi clears his throat. “Colonel Kepler and I are no longer acquaintances.”

Maxwells sighs. “Thank god. Where are we headed?”

“The park.”

“That old thing?”

“Why not?”

The park was probably a bad idea, Jacobi realizes, but it’s too late now. He and Maxwell climb as high as they could- they always did when they were younger, climbing on top of the tube slide and looking down upon all of the smaller children. Now they barely both fit up there. 

Jacobi points at the smaller slide. “I first talked to Kepler there.”

Maxwell laughs. “Oh, Jesus, he was such a weird fourth grader.”

“He was the model boy scout.”

“He was a prick about it, too.”

“Gave me hell when I forgot an umbrella.” Jacobi smiles at the memory. “We were some weird little kids.”

Maxwell nods. “Are you going to tell me what was ‘otherwise preoccupying’ you?”

“I thought you’d forget.”

“I don’t forget. I’m like an elephant.” Maxwell taps her head. “I’ve got a lot of shit in here.”

“It’s a guy,” Jacobi says, trying to lean backward. “He’s- oh god.”

He can feel himself slipping, then panicking, then remembering that there’s sand on the ground, not pavement, and then- “Fuck.”

Maxwell looks down at him, grinning. “Cute.” 

“Go to hell.”

“You’ll join me there, right?”

“Wouldn’t leave you for the world.”

Maxwell slides off the slide and lands on the ground next to him. “Tell me about this guy,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows. Jacobi is reminded of 6th grade, at one of their sleepovers, when he told her that he might have a crush on Kepler, and she had sat up straight, wrapped in blankets, and said,  _no, you don’t,_ had paused, and had added, _if you really do, you're fucked._

“It’s Eiffel.”

Maxwell laughs, and Jacobi crosses his arms. It takes a while for her laughter to die down. 

“Ooh, god.” she snorts. “You know we’re going to have to do double dates?”

“He probably doesn’t like me.”

Maxwell starts laughing again. “A) you sound like a sixth grader, and b) who wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

“You didn’t.”

Maxwell swallows a laugh. “I’m a lesbian, genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Jacobi pauses. “Swing with me?”

They both turn to look at the singular swing, then at each other.

Turns out that Maxwell’s just light enough that she can sit on Jacobi’s shoulders with her hands looped over the structure holding up the swing. They swing a tiny bit and look up at the stars. 

“Pretty.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” Jacobi bursts.

Maxwell leans over his head to look at him. They stare at each other, then she looks back up at the stars. “Same.” she musses his hair. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You know that the fact you actually like Eiffel means you have to stop making fun of my alien t-shirts, right?”

“Oh, I’ve always loved them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's it, folks!! hope you enjoyed this hot mess of a story, and comments are to me as water is to... everyone else and also me bc i'm probs a human. 
> 
> it's a fact that jacobi and maxwell both swear 500% more when around each other. they were /those/ little kids that would recite all the swear words they know in the back of the bus.


End file.
